


And I'll Walk While Stars Watch Over You

by katherineerosee



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bilingual Furihata, Biracial Furihata, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pining, Smitten Akashi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so maybe he wasn’t <i>dreaming</i>, but based on <i>this</i>, maybe he was in heaven. It was the only explanation for the angel leaning over him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'll Walk While Stars Watch Over You

**Author's Note:**

> I just love biracial Furi and absolutely, irrevocably, won't-shut-up-or-stop-irritating-his-friends-about-it smitten Akashi. Idk.

He was dreaming. Floating on a cloud, high above the monotony and noise of the bustling metropolis below. Soaring far from his responsibilities and obligations, fears and phobias, _everything_. And he had absolutely no idea _why_.

He’d been walking, he was fairly sure, down the ashen pavement of midday Tokyo – the light had been blaring off the glass skin of the skyscrapers then, the reflections both blinding, and searing in their heat – and he had stopped to glance at a surprisingly empty store across the street. Some famous American brand had released a new pair of basketball shoes that Akashi was sure Aomine and that boisterous red-head of his would simply drool over, so being the – surprisingly – nice friend he was, he decided he was going to buy them each a pair – in different colours of course – for their third year anniversary.

He’d felt many elbows knock against his own – and him – as he made his way through the crowd to the crossing, and a sense of claustrophobia overwhelmed him when the smoky asphalt of the road finally seeped through the gaps in the swarm of warm bodies. He was almost glad when someone behind him shoved their way through the throng of people and slammed a vicious elbow into his back, throwing him forward and out of the mass. Until, of course, a blare of a car horn pierced his eardrums like the shriek of a siren and agony curled up his side like a tender embrace.

So maybe he _wasn’t_ dreaming.

“–okay?” Someone was panicking near his ear, a tender, warm voice that trickled like honey from his ear down his neck, settling down beneath a cool hand laid on his pulse point. 

Crimson peeked out from underneath his fluttering lashes, heavy eyelids almost pinned down with invisible tacks. It took much more effort than he thought it would – _would have liked_ – to keep his eyes even half-opened, but he would persevere to catch the owner of the heavenly voice still muttering almost hysterically in his ear.

_Ah, heavenly indeed._

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t _dreaming,_ but based on _this_ , maybe he was in heaven. It was the only explanation for the angel leaning over him.

His eyes immediately flickered to soft brown pools of light – _caramel coffee with flecks of vanilla, golden toffee and swirled chocolate, flaked coconut on creamy mocha_ – framed by thick, fluttering lashes and thin, russet brows. He felt calm staring into this man’s – _angel’s_ – eyes, despite the terror and urgency of his widened eyes and dilated pupils.

He felt something warm dribble down his forehead – _are the heavens mourning? Or is this ethereal being above me weeping for me?_

“Oh god, oh god,” _calling out to his father?_ “–you’re bleeding from your head. Head injuries are very dangerous aren’t they–”

Okay. So maybe it wasn’t _tears_ ; heaven’s or this being’s.

Everything was blurred and shaky, blackened edges to his vision and blooming spots of vivid red and piercing white, but still the angel filled his vision. The worried caramel eyes that stared down at him, the clenched teeth that gnawed at his thin lips, cool hands that skimmed across the broken skin of his neck – _keeping an eye on his pulse_ – and swept his bloodied hair from his face, filled him with an odd serenity that tingled in his chest and spread up to his head – _which felt like the steel skeleton of a car being compressed between the plates of a car compactor._

It was with this warm, calming tranquillity that Seijuurou fell unconscious.

* * *

“It seems he’s waking,” a soft voice near the right of his head awoke him from his consuming slumber, a jolt that brought the rhythmic beats of a heart monitor to focus, the sterile scent of bleach and freshly changed, cheap cotton sheets, the shuddering agony curling around his head like a viper.

_The hospital?_

“It’s about time,” another, gruffer voice grumbled near him, followed by a crinkle of sheets and a dip in the bed to his right, “it seemed like he’d never wake up.”  

He faintly heard the faint _chink_ of porcelain hitting metal, followed by a deep “as the Doctor said; he has quite a bit of head trauma, give him some time.”

“Yeah, yeah we got it, grass-head,” the gruff voice near his head grumbled, and Akashi felt a fond grin pull at the corner of his lips.

“Just like old times, huh?” His voice was husky with sleep, and with each syllable, his head throbbed in agony. He slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, his back leaning heavily against the bed frame, “none of you have changed at all.”

“Something like that, Akashi,” Kuroko murmured in the seat next to him, “how are you feeling?”

He rubbed his fingertips gently against the base of his skull, wincing when pain gripped his head like a fist, “fine. My head’s a bit sore. I assume that was from my…acquaintance with the bitumen.”

Aomine snorted from his slouched position, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair and the other hanging limply, “of course _you’d_ say it like _that_.”

“It was lucky help arrived so quickly,” Kuroko murmured quietly, “I imagine it could have been much worse if you weren’t treated swiftly.”

A heavy silence echoed in the room after that, all of them eyeing each other in thought.

Midorima broke the silence, “lucky indeed,” he put in sternly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Akashi hummed to himself, eyebrows furrowed, “how _did_ help arrive so quickly?”

The door swung in suddenly, a slender black haired man sweeping in dramatically, “well,” he chirped, slate eyes sparkling, “it seems you had a guardian angel,” he winked.

“Eh?” Murasakibara squinted at the newcomer.

Midorima eyed him carefully as well, “are you allowed in here?”

The man gave a short laugh, “can’t you see the uniform?” he gestured to his pale blue scrubs with a flourish before turning to Akashi and continuing in a calmer voice, “I’ll be your nurse during your stay here, okay?”

Akashi nodded blankly, a frown still on his face as he tried to figure out why the phrase “ _guardian angel_ ” resonated in him so deeply.

Midorima’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “you’re a nurse?”

He turned to face the taller man, silvery eyes flickering up to his face and then carefully down his body, “yep,” he flashed him a wide grin, “the name’s Takao by the way, Takao Kazunari.”

The others stared in amazement as a blush peppered across Midorima’s face, his eyes flashing to the side behind his glasses and his lips twitching.

“What the hell,” Kise murmured to Aomine, staring as Midorima fidgeted in his place and Aomine snorted in amusement.

He turned back to Akashi and picked up his chart from the edge of the bed, “you took quite the fall,” Takao mused as he flicked through Akashi’s chart, “concussion, fractured ankle bone, bruised ribs, sprained wrist…”

“Thank God you didn’t break anything, Akashicchi!”

Takao hummed in agreement as he adjusted Akashi’s IV bag and checked the readings on his heart monitor.

“Was…” Akashi was staring at the edge of the bed, brows scrunched and a frown on his lips, “…was there someone else there? When I got injured?”

Takao paused and looked over at him, “do you mean was anyone else injured?”

“No,” he shook his head lightly, immediately regretting it when the dull throb spiked to agony for a few seconds, “was there someone there who…called for help?”

The nurse grinned again, turning back to the heart monitor, “ah,” he drawled, “are you talking about Furihata?”

The others looked between Takao and Akashi in confusion, but Akashi paid them no mind. _Furihata? Is that the–?_

“What a splendid name for an angel,” Akashi breathed, a dazed look in his eyes.

Takao turned and stared at the red-head, his eyebrow raised but amusement curling at his lips, “angel, huh?”

“Yes,” Akashi said fervently, “you said so yourself; guardian angel.”

Takao snickered lightly, “it’s just an expression.”

“No, no, he was definitely an angel,” he muttered distractedly.

“Alright, what the fuck is happening?” Aomine asked, ducking away from the swipe Kuroko made at his head and ignoring Midorima’s mutter of “ _language_ ”.

Takao just laughed, striding over to the edge of Akashi’s bed and grabbing his clipboard before scribbling something down, “ah, concussion patients can be a bit dazed for a while after they wake up,” he snickered again as he placed the clipboard down, “this is a new one, though.” He straightened up and nodded to Akashi before turning and walking for the door, brushing his fingers against the back of Midorima’s hand as he strode past and giving him a wink.

Aomine sniggered again, eyeing Midorima’s red face as he droned, “if you get any redder, you may as well put tinsel around your neck.”

A vein in Midorima’s neck pulsed violently, “what did I tell you about calling me a Christmas tree?”

“Aomine, Midorima, please calm down, we’re in a hospital,” Kuroko scolded in a cool tone.

Kise shifted and sat at the end of Akashi’s bed, right next to his covered feet, “are you feeling alright, Akashicchi?”

“Ah, fine, Kise,” he said absent-mindedly, still staring at the edge of his bed with a frown.

“Maybe they should up the dosage on his pain meds,” Murasakibara whispered loudly, one hand stuffed in a packet of potato chips.

* * *

They were all sitting in the hospital cafeteria – Kuroko quietly reading a book while Kise draped himself over the shorter man, Aomine yawning as he slumped over in his chair, Murasakibara eyeing the selection in the vending machine (and holding a lot of people up in the process) and Midorima stirring his coffee and thinking – when Takao approached Midorima.

“I never caught your name,” the shorter man leaned against the wall next to Midorima, almost startling him into dropping his coffee.

“Ah,” Midorima pushed his glasses up, “Midorima Shintarou.”

“Hm,” Takao tapped a finger against his chin, “how about Shin-chan?”

“ _Shin-chan_?” Midorima spluttered, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

“Fits, doesn’t it?” Takao grinned triumphantly.

“I’m a six-foot-five male with a degree in medicine, _no it doesn’t fit!_ ”

“Oh,” Takao’s eyes widened before he nodded solemnly, “ _Dr_ Shin-chan, then.”

“What–I– _no_ ,” he rubbed his temple with his finger in exasperation.

Takao grinned again, “anyway, I didn’t come here for introductions, I came here to talk about your friend.”

Midorima turned serious, “is his concussion more severe than it seems?”

“I don’t think so,” the other hummed, “it’s seems rather mild, all things considered.”

Midorima’s eyes flashed over to his friends before returning to Takao, “I haven’t – _we_ haven’t – ever seen Akashi act like that before.”

Takao giggled suddenly, his eyes brightening in amusement and something indecipherable, “oh, but you should have seen it, Shin-chan!” Midorima growled lightly, but Takao ignored him in favour of giggling into his fist, “the guy that helped Akashi – Furihata – he came in here as well when Akashi was admitted, not because he was injured or Akashi’s next of kin, or even really because he was a witness,” he cleared his throat and attempted to look serious, but the look was ruined when he burst into laughter again, “it was because your friend wouldn’t let go of his hand, even when he was unconscious!”

Midorima’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his eyes widening behind his glasses, “W-what?”

“You heard me,” Takao guffawed, hands on his stomach to try to contain the amusement.

“Why would he do that?” He asked quietly.

“Well, I personally think,” Takao sobered suddenly, “that Akashi became quickly and extremely attached to Furihata. Perhaps because he really does see him as his ‘guardian angel’.”

“What a strange situation,” Midorima murmured, chewing on his lip in thought.

“Definitely,” Takao agreed, eye flicking up to meet his, “but, more importantly, would you like to get some coffee?”

“Ah–well, I–I already have–”

Takao grabbed him by his forearm, an excited grin on his bright features, “excellent!”

* * *

Akashi was awoken from his dreamless sleep by a loud clattering sound, alongside some quiet, muttered curses. He opened his eyes and focused on the off-white ceiling for a moment before titling his head and searching for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on a slim, crouched figure just to the right of his bed, picking up shards of glass with nimble hands.

It took a moment for the scene to sink into his sleep addled mind, but when it finally did, Akashi pulled himself up into a sitting position, his expression one of awe.

“You returned to me,” he breathed, amazement clear in his breathy voice.

The other man startled at his voice, dropping a few shards of glass as he jumped, “ah!” he exclaimed before he glanced over his shoulder, “oh, you’re awake, Akashi.” His mocha coloured eyes were sparkling in the sharp fluorescent lighting and framed by his ruffled chestnut hair.

“Indeed I am,” Akashi murmured, gazing at the man in awe, “and you’re here.”

“Ah, yeah,” the brunet dumped the glass into the small bin next to the door before walking back over to the bed, “yeah, I am,” he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Akashi’s eyes roamed over his face, memorising every fine detail like patterns on china, “why?”

He looked up through his eyelashes and made eye contact – something like caused the breath to freeze in Akashi’s chest – while smiling gently, “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said softly.

“Ah, I’m a bit injured,” Akashi dismissed with a wave of his hand, “but I’m fine now, thanks to you.”

A delightful blush spread across the other’s cheekbones and nose, “ah, I–I didn’t really do anything Akashi.”

“Nonsense,” he winced slightly as he shifted in his bed, “if it weren’t for you I could still be bleeding out on the street.” Akashi leaned forward, still staring intently at the other man, “I never truly caught your name…ah, Furihata, was it?”

“Oh, yes, Furihata,” he stuck out his slim hand for Akashi to shake, “Furihata Kouki.”

“What an oddly American custom,” he mused, “and _bright light_ , huh? Perfect,” he shook the offered hand, noting the warmth, his silky soft skin.

_Kouki_ blushed adorably and scratched his cheek, “ah, sorry, one of my friends is American; I guess he’s rubbed off on me,” he gently settled himself along the edge of the bed, “and, uh, what is your name, Akashi?”

“Seijuurou.”

“Ah,” Furihata fidgeted where he sat for a moment before sighing quietly, “I brought you flowers,” he gestured to the bouquet of delicate white magnolias lying on the bedside table, “but I broke the vase, sorry.”

“And that’s why you were cleaning up glass earlier?”

He nodded, looking sheepish again, “yeah, sorry for w-waking you!”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled soothingly, his eyes unbelievably warm.

Furihata trembled slightly where he sat, a tentative smile curling at his thin lips, “o-okay.” His hands clenched the blanket beneath him until he stood slowly, “well, I best be going, Akashi,” he dusted invisible dust from his black jeans, “I’m glad you’re okay! I’ll visit–”

“Please,” Akashi reached out and snagged the other man’s wrist, his long fingers curling around the slim joint and his thumb caressing the skin on the inside of his wrist gently, “call me Seijuurou.”

Another blush settled across his skin, “ah, uh, o-okay…Seijuurou.”  

Akashi felt warmth trickle down his throat and settle behind his ribcage, like sap dribbling down a tree’s bark.

“I’ll be back tomorrow…if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” he muttered dazedly, “of course, I’ll see you then, _Kouki._ ”

* * *

“I can’t explain it, Kuroko,” he sighed almost dreamily, “he’s… _definitely_ an angel.”

Kuroko frowned, “Akashi–”

“–there’s no other explanation, he just _must_ be. Have you seen him? Oh, he has the softest looking hair, and his eyes are simply _gorgeous_...”

Kuroko sighed and picked at his nails, “if you’ll excuse me, Akashi, I think Kise and Aomine just arrived, I’m going to go greet them.” He patted Akashi gently on the back of his hand before rising from his seat and walking from the room.

“Akashi sure has it bad…” he muttered under his breath as he made his way down to the cafeteria.

“Kurokocchi!” Kise greeted exuberantly, while Aomine grunted and nodded his head in acknowledgement. “How’s Akashicchi?”

“His injuries seem fine,” he said, “in fact, it seems like his biggest ailment is his chronic pining.”

“Eh?” Kise blinked, “what do you mean, Kurokocchi?”

Aomine tipped his head back and shoved his hands in his pockets, “ah, that _angel_ he kept going on about?”

Kuroko nodded silently, “I believe his name is Furihata.”

“I don’t understand,” Kise scratched his head, “why is Akashicchi so interested in this… _angel_?”

They started walking back up to Akashi’s room side by side, “well,” Kuroko began, “I believe Furihata was the first on the scene, as well as the one who called for help.”

“Akashi apparently became very attached to Furihata very quickly,” Midorima interjected from the side, standing in the doorway with a drink in one hand and Takao wrapped around his other arm.

Kise wiggled his eyebrows at the scene and Midorima blushed deeply, trying – and failing – to shake Takao from his arm.

“Ya know, the name Furihata sounds _really_ familiar for some reason,” Aomine itched his temple absentmindedly.

“Eh? How so?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe he’s one of Taiga’s friends? Couldn’t tell you.”

When they finally made their way back to Akashi’s room, Midorima and Takao trailing behind them, they heard voices from the open doorway.

“…I finally managed to bring a vase!” a gentle voice called, “…hopefully I won’t break this one,” he muttered, and Akashi answered with a tinkling laugh.

They eyed each other with raised brows, and trudged forward in curiosity. They stood collectively at the doorway for a moment, watching as Akashi stared at a slender brunet in adoration before Takao called out “Furihata!” and the man turned around.

His wide caramel eyes widened further when he saw them, and he raised both his brows when he made eye contact with Aomine, “Aomine?”

“Oh,” Aomine said in realisation, stepping into the room and walking over to the seated brunet, “I knew your name sounded familiar.” He slapped Furihata gently on the shoulder, a smirk pulling at his lips, “long time no see, Furi.”

The brunet returned his smile, “you too, Aomine.”

“You guys know each other?” Kise asked as they all stepped into the room, Takao going over – with Midorima in tow – to greet Furihata and check Akashi’s vitals, and Kuroko taking a seat next to Aomine as he flopped into the chair.

“Yeah,” Aomine answered, “Furi used to tutor Taiga in Spanish in high school, and have been good friends ever since.”

“You can speak Spanish?” Akashi asked in wonder.

“Heh,” Furihata anxiously twined his fingers together, “I’m half Spanish, so yeah. I can speak it fluently.”

“Really?” Kise asked excitedly.

“Well…” Furihata looked up at the ceiling for a moment before facing Kise again, “mamá me golpeaba con una cuchara si no hablara español en casa.”

Kise clapped his hands in delight and Takao chuckled, causing Furihata to blush again.

“You’re incredible,” Akashi breathed quietly.

His eyes widened again and he blushed further, “me estás matando aquí,” he whined, his voice dropping deeper as he spoke in his other tongue.  

“That’s so cool!”  

“Ah, thank you,” Furihata stood up and dusted himself off, “sorry, but I have to get going,” he bowed to them all before turning to Akashi, opening his mouth before the red-head interrupted him.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?” He sounded almost desperately hopeful, a far-cry from his usual demeanour.  

“Of course…Seijuurou,” he smiled softly and patted him on the knee before smiling at them all again and sweeping from the room.  

It was quiet for a moment, before Aomine snickered into his fist, “oh man, Akashi, you got it _bad_ ,” he grinned wickedly, “oh, I can’t _wait_ until I tell Taiga, he’s gonna be _so_ pissed that you’ve got your eye on little Furi…”  

Akashi ignored him completely, more focused on the thought of his angel’s visit tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple things: 
> 
> 1\. Please let me know if the Spanish translations are wrong, I can only speak (intermediate) Japanese, and I know for a fact Google Translate does NOT work for Jap, so if it's the same for Spanish, just give me a heads up!  
> 2\. I have like 4 WIPs in which there is a car accident. I blame [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yB4viq204Ik) song (because it's fucking awesome).  
> 3\. Am I the only one with a huge soft spot for smitten Akashi??? He's such a loser. I'm sure this is Liaofthedawn's fault for their cute af stories.


End file.
